The Legend of Brooklyn: I Answer to No One
by Revan11
Summary: SEQUEL to Make Them Remember You: Three years after the murder of his family was solved, Spot Conlon is living as best he can, til he gets some more news that changes his life's direction once again: Race finds a girl, and Queens, still in hatred for Cobra's death, falls under new command forcing Spot to re-establish his acquaintance, and don't forget about his kid brother Sam.
1. Chapter 1- Welcome to 1900

The sun was dawning on New York Harbor; the streets of the city were quiet, save for the occasional purr of a stray cat or bark of a wandering dog. Within the hour, this veil of silence would be drawn away, surrendering the boisterous shouts of young boys and girls eager to sell the daily paper to earn their daily wage; market shoppers and workers anxiously looking to buy and sell products; lastly, we find lively groups of children scampering about, laughing, playing and enjoying themselves however they possibly could. This was New York City 1900.

The newsie strike of 1899 came and went, as did many newsies. The lodging houses in Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens had a large influx of young boys since the Strike, many of whom idolized the idea of being a newsie simply because of unity and power they had developed during the Strike. These boys, the majority of which, were orphans found a place they could call home without a fear of persecution from refuge workers, police, or the upper class. The old newsies had a different light to shed on the situation. Being a newsie had its advantages but apart from soakin' scabs and having a certain degree of independence, the newsie life was rough. There was always a war between two boroughs vying for power and respect, which was hard to come by at the time. Respect was earned. One newsie knew that more than any other in the city: Spot Conlon.

Some newsies sell their paper quota quicker than others so free time was well spent. With a seeming bond between Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon, the newsies of Manhattan and Brooklyn got along quite well. On this particular late spring day, a small group of newsies from both boroughs decided to take a swim near the Brooklyn docks. It was closing in on one o'clock when Jack came wandering into Brooklyn, he headed straight to a smaller figure seated high on his perch overlooking the bay.


	2. Chapter 2 - Catching Up

The boy was toying with an object: the gold-tipped cane, once his father's, that so many had come to familiarize the King with, was firmly grasped in his right hand. His mind had been wandering as his eyes perused the bay. He heard footsteps approaching, "Jacky-boy. What ya doin' out-and-abouts?"

"Just come to check on my ol' friend, how are you, Spot?" came Jack's quick response. It had been just over two years since the murder of Spot's family was solved. William Hearst was resting uncomfortably in jail for his mastermind behind the murders and rumors spread that Hearst's health was rapidly deteriorating not that Spot cared any. He knew it may be heartless of him to act that way but he had every right to choose whether to forgive or not. He had chosen the latter.

Spot and Jack had remained friends through the uphill journey following the events of 1897, but it in the past two months Spot had distanced himself from everyone, even his own Brooklyn newsies at times. Though thoughts of his sibling and his parents haunted his dreams occasionally, Spot's main nightmare concerned his brother, Sam, the baby that had survived the fire. Left to the protection of Mrs. Elaine Allen, Sam had grown healthy and had quite the vocabulary for a five year old, as Spot discovered from the letters Mrs. Allen sent him. She normally sent letters every two weeks, and therein was Spot's concern: he had not received any letters for the past month and was starting to become restless. He had come close to leaving Brooklyn for Albany but Donny continually reassured him things were okay.

"How's sellin' in Brooklyn?" Jack asked, trying to sound interested though he could easily tell Spot was not listening to half of what he said. He repeated his question, to which Spot snapped, "It could be better, though I ain't givin' it my fullest attentions, Jacky-boy." Jack needed know explanation. No one newsie in all New York needed the explanation. It was obvious, Spot was depressed again. He wanted his brother with him but he knew he couldn't take in a five year old boy to live amongst a bunch of rough, dirty, uncouth teenage boys, especially Brooklyn. They'd respect Spot's brother because they respected Spot, but the decision was purely up to Spot and he was not one to risk it yet.

"Come on over to Tibby's, Spot; let's get some grub. Clear ya head, brotha." Spot shrugged his shoulders stubbornly before sliding off his throne and landing with a loud thud on the deck below. "Thanks, Jack." He said softly as they walked along.

"It's been awhile, Spot, ya got a goil?" Spot shook his head. It is true, despite all the fame that was bestowed him after Hearst's arrest, Spot Conlon remained single. Girls came and went, some loved him for his fame, some for his body, but none for his soul and that was what mattered most to him. It was all that failure coupled with the tragedy that turned Spot into the Spot Conlon known today, the cold, brutal, fearless newsie leader from Brooklyn. Feared and respected, he had his way anywhere he went from Brooklyn to the Bronx. Many said he would never settle down with a girl, never have a family, and never have a normal life because of the way he was. Spot could have cared less. He had Brooklyn and that suited him just fine. _You can't do this forever, _a voice in his echoed. He smacked his head discreetly. He hated the voices in his head and he sure as hell did not want Jack or anyone else know he was being troubled by his mind, otherwise everyone would think he was a psycho.

"How's you and Sarah?" He said with a slight bit of depression in his voice, trying to distract himself from his inward problems. Jack gave a small grin, "We're gonna get married in a year. Her parents said we could." Spot smiled, turned to his friend and patted him hard on the back, "Congrats, Cowboy. Ya make me proud."

"Thanks, Spot."

When the two finally arrived at Tibby's, Spot was greeted with a thunderous hello from Race, "Spot!" he cheered running to Spot they spit in their hands and shook. Race led Spot and Jack to a booth nearest them. He was excited, like he had something to tell. Spot look awkwardly at Race, "What's da spill, Race? Either ya just pissed yaself or ya got some news." To this, Jack laughed heartily.

"I met a goil." Race grinned from ear to ear.

"What's her name - Black Beauty?" Spot joked. He jabbed Race, who simply rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"She ain't a horse dimwit." He shot back.

"Watch ya tone with me or I'm gonna hafta soak ya." Spot threatened sarcastically. He and Spot had grown close, about as close as he and Jack were; these two were the only ones Spot could trust. Spot had power over Brooklyn but no trust, it had happened with Wiz and Spot wasn't about to take chances. Spot worried about his control over Brooklyn, with little trust in his second-in-command, Donny, and very little in any of the other Brooklyn boys, he felt as though he was losing Brooklyn. Having Manhattan to fall back was comforting but he was Spot Conlon, he embodied Brooklyn, if he were to lose it, he was sure to become the butt of every newsie's joke.


	3. Chapter 3 - Race and Gwen

"Tell us 'bout dis goil den." Spot said shifting his focus back to Race.

"Her name is Gwen. She's from Queens; she's da leadah of Queens' sistah. She's gawjus wid long dark brown hair and blue eyes – almost like your eyes, Spot. " Race said with a cheeky grin. "Don't be havin' feelins for me Race. I'se not about to be ya wife."

Spot and Jack laughed at their friend, making cat calls and intangible hearts in front of him. "Laugh it up ya buncha dirtbags!"

After the laughing leaders had calmed themselves, Jack popped a question to Race, "So, Race, you'se tellin' me she's Scar's sistah?"

Race shook his head, "Nah Jack, ain't ya heard? Scar abandoned Queens, hell, he abandoned New York. He's makin' his way to San Francisco as of last week."

Jack's eyebrows twitched, "Did he? Who's runnin' Queens now?" Race sniggered at his friend's question. He took a long sip of his drink before glancing toward Spot and Jack. He took a deep breath, "You ain't gonna believe this but Queens is run by a goil! Her name is Raven." Spot had just drank some of his water when at Racetrack's answer he spewed it all back out and over the table as well as his friend. Race reeled back in disgust as his hands clutched his damp shirt.

"Thanks, Spot, really smooth." Jack chuckled a bit but Race could tell by the frown beginning to form on Cowboy's face that something was up. He figured that it had to be concerned with the fact that Queens, once the only borough to forbid girl newsies, was the first of the city's borough to pass the torch from male to female. Jack had believed that girl newsies were good to have; they sell papes to the young male adult age group rather well, honestly no surprise there. Whoever this Raven was, however had better know her place should Queens ever cross Manhattan's path, much more Brooklyn. Spot still hated Queens for what Cobra had done to him, and he made sure Scar knew to leave Brooklyn be, but since Scar left town, Spot knew he would have to reassert himself with this Raven.

The next day, Race ran doggedly through the streets all the way from Manhattan to Queens. His panting and wheezing indicated how fast he had been running or maybe how out of shape he was. He was headed for the Queens Newsie Lodging House to pick up Gwen for a little date he had planned with her: a day at the Sheepshead Races. A smiled crossed his lips as he neared the old worn down building which cast a gloomy impression on Race, not that it bothered him all that much. He was too nervous waiting for Gwen outside the door that he did not notice a large boy emerge from around the corner of the building.

"'Ey who's dere?" the voice boomed causing Racetrack to spin around in surprise. He eyed the boy up, up, all the way then back down. This newsie was muscular and tall, so tall that Race had to painfully crane his neck to view the boy's face.

"Hey ya tough guy or what?" the little Italian retorted, "I'm here for Gwen. Is she here?"

The large boy laughed, "You'se here fa' Gwen? Is dat how you'se go 'round askin'? She's waitin' for Racetrack Higgins, surely you ain't him?"

"I got answers to your load 'a questions, yes, yes, and yes. Now take me in to her, bonehead." Race retorted jabbing a finger into the boy's chest. Not taking kindly to the gesture, the large boy suddenly grabbed Race by his collar and hoisted him skyward. "Don't ya dare touch me like that again!" Race winced, struggling to free himself from the boy's grasp.

"Put me down, ya big oaf! Ya hear me! I'll get me boys from Manhattan and round up all 'a Brooklyn on ya!" Race shouted, suddenly the boy froze, "Brooklyn?! Spot Conlon!" He roared and then with all his might he chucked Racetrack across the street. Race tumbled for several moments before finally coming to a sudden impact as he made impact a horse cart that sat abandoned next to the old horse stable. He groaned in pain, rubbing his head briefly then glancing up to see his attacker coming back toward him yelling, "Spot Conlon! I'll murder that scabba' if I evah see 'im again. You tell ya little friend that Hulk is coming for him. Race retreated briefly, before a sharp pain shot up his wrist. He shouted in pain. He turned his gaze to his sore wrist and examined it extensively. It was swelling very quickly, looking like a bright red grapefruit more than a wrist. He must have sprained it when Hulk tossed him.

"Does it hurt? It bettah, if not, I'se gladly can throw ya again, little prick." Hulk taunted as he knelt over the top of Racetrack; now pinned between the cart and Hulk, Race perused his options quickly since there was no way he could get to his feet and then manage to run away, the large boy would be on him in no time. Then his eyes fell to the Lodging House, in the doorway stood Gwen, he long dark hair flowing from the crown of her head, her blue eyes casting a look of terror upon the scene laid out in front of her. Race smiled, laying in the dirt, pinned down by a large with major anger issues.

"Hulk! Get off him! Leave him be! Wilbur!" her shouts echoed through the streets as Race began to chuckle, "Gig's up Wil-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-lbur. No wondah they calls you Hulk; wid a name like that, I'd want somethin' a little more manly too." The aggressor rolled his eyes and released his grip on Race. Gwen brushed by him as he went inside fuming with anger. The girl rushed to Racetrack's side, her eyes full of sorrow, "Race! Are you alright? Let me help you." She pulled Race to his feet much to his astonishment, she may have been a girl but Gwen was strong and smart and perhaps that was why she was second-in-command in Queens. She placed her hands on her friend and smiled gently, "Let's get you cleaned up." Race caught her hand in his and she led him away. The entrance to the lodging house was dark, a single candle was lit by the stairway. The inner room, toward the back was full of light, however, as Race could hear a pack of loud newsies laughing and chatting away. He could hear Hulk's voice booming telling his story about Racetrack. Race simply rolled his eyes as he followed Gwen upstairs to the washroom. The upstairs looked much like Manhattan's own lodge save for another round stairwell leading upward. "Where does that lead? Raven's quarters, no one is allowed access unless she herself bids them." Race looked smugly at the lonely staircase, _was this Raven that secretive? She must fancy herself as quite a leader, to isolate herself from the rest of the newsies that much; not even Spot does that!_

"Can I meet her?" Race asked, hesitantly, though his answer was not welcoming, Gwen glared at him, "Only if she wants to see you." Her eyes ignited with a wild fire that Race had never in his life seen before. What was it about Raven that made everyone fear and respect her, even more than Spot Conlon was feared and respected.


	4. Chapter 4 - Little Miss Priss

"Woman gives birth to Cyclops baby!" Spot shouted mendaciously. He was tired and starving and wanted nothing more than to sell his last pape, and head to Manhattan. A meal at Tibby's was on call followed by a show at Medda's, filled in with soakin' scabs and spending time with the newsies, since his own boys in Brooklyn had been avoiding him of late. He couldn't understand why they were acting so suspicious but then he didn't mind being alone because for the most part they annoyed him beyond reason.

He sold his last pape and took off in a dead sprint, mainly to escape before the man, who had purchased the last print, could realize that no such Cyclops headline existed. After several minutes, a winded Spot slowed his pace to a walk as he crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun late morning sun beat down on Spot's gently tanned skin and the view exhibited from the bridge on the bay was marvelous, forcing Spot to stop and give his attention to it for several spare moments. It was a calming feeling that Spot felt come over him, he closed his eyes and breathed in the warm air. The few relaxing moments always did him good.

Suddenly his eyes shot open at the sound of snickering behind him, he whipped his body around to discover a girl about his height laughing in his directions.

"You got a problem, girl?" he demanded. She paused for a moment, and shot him a deathly glare with her dazzling green eyes. Wait, not dazzling, Spot didn't even like green, and he especially didn't like this girl. Who did she think she was to mock him like that? She look like an ordinary street beggar, nothing high class or extremely poor but well enough off; dressed in trousers and suspenders with black cap covering the top of her rich brown hair.

"Yeah, I do Conlon. You. You are my problem. You look like a dunce, standing there all swept up in the moment. Never thought I'd see the famed King of Brooklyn exposed, you softy." The girl retorted. Whoa, now Spot knew he hate her, she was cocky, stuck up, and rude. Spot hated the fact that girls stood up to him, it was annoying, petty, and improper.

"Don't patronize me, you sassy little bitch!?" Spot fired at her, now furious as could be, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, "How do you know me?" Disgust marked his face from furrowed brow, to clenched teeth, and a blaze of anger in his eyes.

"Ease up, Conlon. No need to piss ya britches." The tomboy said holding a hand out in protest. Spot frowned, the more he spoke to the girl the more he detested her existence. Why couldn't it have been a boy, he would have soaked the lousy whack by now without a second thought; he would never hit a girl no matter how impossibly annoying she came to be. Spot shifted his stance away from the girl, keeping his gaze as best he could, away from Little Miss Priss, but soon he found himself staring into her fluorescent green eyes, she had moved to face him again.

"Whaddaya want from me, ya still ain't answered my question," Spot flared at her again, giving her a slight push with his left forearm, "How d'ya know me?"

The girl gave Spot a shocked look, "How do I not know you, should be your question. You're Spot Conlon, the boy who went from royal to street rat to royal street rat. You're the boy who exposed William Randolph Hearst in the biggest Ponzi scheme to date as well as murder! You were in the news for days following that affair and then ya went on to help Jack Kelly and the 'Hattan newsies take down Ol' Joe." She snorted, "You're only the most famous newsie in New York and probably everywhere else!"

Spot felt his ego inflate about a mile, as the girl recounted the tales of his fame. He smirked at the street rat reference, "Either you're tryin' ta buttah me up or you know your stuff. You're good with woids, too." He stepped toward her with his typical Spot Conlon glare, "That's my story but what's yours? Judging by ya accent ya from 'Hattan. You probably ran away from your rich hoity-toity life, ya headstrong so you though ya could survive on the streets. Ya parents loved ya but you didn't love them." He poked her hard in the shoulder with his cane and continued, "Now ya out on da streets runnin' for ya life and working the bedsheets to any street rat that'll gain ya admittance?"

The girl froze, a look horror plastered on her face she lunged at Spot in a frenzied barrage of fingernail jabs and hand slaps, "You think ya so smart, Conlon. Yeah, I lived in 'Hattan but I aint no whore!" she screamed, "You're just like every other boy in this broken city, ya goy no brain you'd rather think with your balls instead of your brain!"

Nose to nose with Priss, Spot simply glared wide-eyed in shock, as she launched her high class vocabulary and attitude at him. He figured her bark was worse than her bite, however, and smirked fiercely. This only enraged her more as she gave him a hard shove that forced him backwards against a bridge beam.

"I'm right, ain't I, maybe you ain't a pleasure seeker but all that other stuff I said was true, ain't it?' he mocked with tenacity. Priss's face began to redden and a tear filled in her eye, she brushed by Spot and went to bridge railing, gazing sadly out into the murky water that gushed through the bay.

"You want my story, Conlon. You aren't the only one with a sad start My father runs an investment company, yeah we're rich but money doesn't bring happiness. My father got greedy and it drove my loving, caring, sweet mother to her end. She died of a laudanum overdose, she couldn't take my father's malicious activity, anymore. I say she died of a broken heart not the drugs. Hell, he loved his cold hard money more than his sweet wife, how? Men are so cold and unfeeling!" She began to cry, "My younger sister, my last bit of care in the world, fled to the streets, kicked from the streets into the filthy alleyways more times than I can care to count. I took up the skill of theft to keep food in our bellies."

"That's a crime, you could get jailed for that shit." Spot interrupted.

"When you have to eat, you do anything. Don't tell me you're the perfect person and never stole." She spoke again, causing Spot to recall his first days on the street. She was right, Tails and Blazer had taught him the art of theft, in case pape sales were low.

"Anyway, can I continue?" Spot nodded as Priss continued, "Eventually, we found our way to Queens, and Scar graciously took us in. We became newsies and though it's been rough, the two of us, we have survived." She paused, "Oh, and in case you were wondering, I have never bedded a boy. That's not who I am. I have better things to do like survive and look out for what I care about than to live the high life like some people and frequent the lust house," referring to Spot.

The last comment did more than just anger Spot, he was irate, "Don't judge me, priss! I ain't never slept with no goil! I have a little more respect for girls."

The girl glared at him once again, "Then respect me and get out of my way. I have a living to earn! And by the way my name is Star not Priss!" she shouted shoving him as hard as she could.

Spot chuckled, "Please! I ain't got no respect for you! You ain't a girl, no more! Sure you got a heart wrenching story but you just want attention and someone who can take you and ya sistah in! By all means, scurry off like da little street rat that you are and leave me da hell alone, bitch!"

She snarled at him as she turned to leave, "Scar was right; Brooklyn is trash and so are you! Get off your high horse, Spot Conlon and take a look around you. There are other people in this world besides you." Her last words trailing off as she broke into a sprint back toward Manhattan. Spot shook his head, "What a bitch." His now volatile mood took full control of him as he swung a fist at the brick bridge beam, he turned back to Brooklyn and walked with heated footfalls back to the docks. There would be no Tibby's or Medda's for him; this run in with Star ruined his mood as well as his day and nothing, not even Medda's singing could bring him out of his funk.

_**Please rate and review! It may take some time to post the next chapter, I'll be out of reach for a week. Never fear, the story will go on. Scenarios constantly rush into my head so I try and write them down and draw up a story for the next chapter. This chapter started with me very clueless but honestly as I began to write Star's character , her first dialogue I just got caught up with this chapter and honestly I feel like it's one of the better developed chapters I have written in the LOB series. Thanks for reading and hang in there we'll see what lies in store for Spot and this Star girl, and soon enough Sam will come into the story. **___


	5. Chapter 5 - Double Cross n Best Friends

Spot sat on his perch majestically, with an arm supporting his face; ok, so not that majestically. His glum expression overshadowed the mood of the newsies that were relaxing and enjoying themselves around the pier. The boys from Brooklyn understood that when Spot was mad or unhappy, it was best to respect his space and be quiet around him. Heads turned all at once, at the sound of footsteps clamoring on the aging wooden dock, it was Donny and by the poker faced expression on his face, the boys knew he was not happy himself. Donny had always been supportive of Spot leading Brooklyn but deep down it bothered him that Blazer passed him for Spot, and then even more so when Wiz, a longtime friend of his, was killed. Sure, he was a traitor, but he was still Donny's friend, and Brooklyn's lieutenant couldn't fully respect Spot for that.

"Spot, why ya bein' so glum and dumb today, you been in a bad mood evah since ya got back from sellin'. Da boys and I'se worried 'bout ya." Donny confessed, slapping Spot's foot from below. Spot looked down on his second-in-command, he realized Donny was not entirely thrilled with his jurisdiction of late, but honestly Spot could care less.

"Yeah, I'm you'se all worried about me Donny. I'm fine, just dealin' with a problem. You boys can do whatevah ya wanna do tonight, I don't care." Spot frowned down at his companion. Donny scoffed at Spot's remark, "Good cuz me and da boys already decided we'se goin' to Queens to play some poker."

"Not Queens!"

"Yes, Queens. We'se goin no mattah what ya say, Spot." Donny retorted.

"I'm da leadah, you do what I say." Spot shot back defiantly.

A group of boys moved behind Donny, standing with against Spot, "Honestly Spot, you ain't been yaself lately so me and da boys been discussin' the idea of a new leadah."

"Nice joke, Donny. That ain't gonna happen. Brooklyn would crumble without me." Spot shouted leaping from his perch to face Donny eye-to-eye. His eyes, fiery with rage and disgust, clashed with Donny's barren uncaring brown eyes.

"No joke Spot. You need ta realize that all you are is a figurehead and you don't really do all that much." Donny explained as he waved his hands frantically about.

"Do whatevah the hell ya wanna do, Donny. I thought I could trust you, you was there for me from the start; but now I see the real you. Go to Queens, play ya pokah but don't come back to Brooklyn. That goes for any of ya wantin' to join him."

Donny was none too happy with Spot's reaction, "Ha! Spot, we'll be back. You ain't got a say in the mattah anymore. You're finished." Spot swung his fist at Donny, connecting with his jaw and forcing him to the ground. The crowd of boys tried to help Donny to his feet before Spot scared them all away.

"Don't defy me or I'll bring whoever I need ta and soak ya bums to within a inch 'a ya life! Scram!" The crowd slowly dispersed, Donny in the lead. Spot gave his deathly Spot Conlon glare as the boys vanished behind a building next to the pier. He knew they'd be back, but he wasn't too worried; he and Donny had run-ins like this before, within two days things would be back to normal. Spot sprawled himself out on the dock and stared at the clouds, it was sort of calming, he thought. He worried about Donny and the seven boys that had ran off to Queens. It was these same boys who stood against him each time he and Donny had a scuffle. He never trusted Donny though he often said he did, sometimes a lie can do some service, and in this instance it surely was helping. As his mind wandered deeper and deeper into thought, Spot began to drift into sleep. He yawned as he squirmed into a more comfortable position, with a leg crossed over the other and his hands gathered behind his head, and took a siesta. A few hours of peaceful solitude passed before Spot was awoken by a familiar voice: it was Racetrack.

"Spot! Hey Spotty! Wake up! You comin' to Medda's tonight her show starts at seven." Racetrack said, shaking Spot firmly. Spot grumbled as he was rocked from his slumber, he waved his hands tiredly, trying to fend off Race's attempts to stir him.

"Stop, Race. I don't wanna go!" Spot pouted as Race tugged him to his feet then studied him momentarily before lashing his hand out and catching Spot across the face with a slap.

"Damnit, Race! What the hell was that for?"

"You're comin' to Medda's with me and Cowboy. One, because you promised us last week and two, because I want you to meet Gwen." Race stated as he placed a hand on Spot's neck. Spot drowsily consented to his friend's demand. As much as Race often annoyed Spot with his desires, Spot and Race developed their brotherly bond since the Strike so Spot couldn't let his friend down. Still infuriated by his meeting with Star, refused to let a smile onto his lips, so Race did what any good friend would do and gave Spot a friendly forceful shove backward catching Spot off his guard. The Brooklyn leader toppled into the water and upon resurfacing filled the air with curses and swears, words only heard from the mouth of an Irish-Italian boy. Race admired his work with a hearty laugh until he saw Spot emerging from the water with a all too familiar expression of wrath etched onto his face.

"I'll kill ya, Race!"

"Who ya kiddin', Spot?" Race laughed again as he playfully strolled down the dock, with a sopping wet Spot Conlon in tow. The boys swung by the Lodging House to allow Spot to change into some dry clothes before heading into Manhattan to Irving Hall. As they walked along through the Brooklyn streetscape, Race explained to his friend that, in fact, Jack was planning a surprise birthday party for Medda; apparently all the newsies had been invited.

"Nothing new, then? I mean, all the newsies in this fair city are at Irving Hall practically every time Medda hosts a show anyway," Spot paused when he realized what else Race had said, "It's Medda's birthday? I can't believe I forgot!" He smacked himself on the side of the head in frustration.

"Buy her flowers. We can buy her a bouquet together, you and me." Spot nodded in agreement, as the boys took a sharp detour toward a flower shop up the street. Spot was glad Race had been there for him when he needed some cheering up, but hey that's what a friend does. Spot was determined to enjoy himself at Medda's tonight; no Star or Donny would ruin him again, and for all he cared they could go to **H**eath's **E**loquent **L**anguage **L**ounge (did ya see what I did there? Hey I wanted to throw some flare, ight? Deal with it.)

_** Ok so this took a bit to post, but it's up. Yeah it's a filler chapter and I couldn't think anything good to toss in besides a little tidbit on Spot and Race's friendship (bromance… just kiddin **____** ) I anticipate next chapter to escalate with lots of juicy drama cause Spot always attracts attention good or bad …cause that's just the way he is.) THANKS! **_


	6. Chapter 6 - A Night At Medda's

Irving Hall was one of the few places in Manhattan Spot actually found a measure of enjoyment; other than Tibby's and the Lodging House, nothing in Manhattan gave Spot a spark like Brooklyn. Ask the king any day he'd take the Brooklyn Pier over all of Manhattan, essentially because of what happened to his family. There is a reason he doesn't show his face in Manhattan and furthermore there is a reason he never left Brooklyn: his past and his future. Manhattan was the scar of his past and Brooklyn was the light of his future.

The hall was filled with newsies, boys and girls alike, when Spot and Racetrack arrived. Spot, in his usual swagger, made his way through the throngs of teenagers to his table, front and center of the stage. The table was and had always been reserved for Jack and Spot, since the days before the strike; it was a place of distinguishing honor. Spot swiveled his head in every direction when he had realized Racetrack had vanished, perhaps he had found his way to the bar or he had gone in search of his woman; it made no difference to Spot, however, who just wanted a drink. Not a good combination: his Italian-Irish blood mixed with alcohol, but after everything that had happened with Star and Donny and the boys, alcohol was his solution.

With each sip he could feel his reality slipping away from him, and Spot was tipsy, very tipsy. He in the middle of ordering another drink when Medda came strolling over to him, "Spot, come up on stage with me."

"No thank you, Medda. I ain't in all my senses anymore and I don't wanna make a fool of myself."

"If you insist, I hope you are enjoying yourself." She said as she turned back toward the stage. Spot raised his glass in salute, "It's your show, Medda, how could I not be?" He eyed the redhead as she stepped back into the spotlight both of her bodies curtsying to the swarm of – wait both? He was drowning in his bottle of whiskey and he didn't care but seriously had he really lost it so quickly.

"Ohhhh well! Meddaaaaaaaaa!" he cheered drunkenly as Jack Kelly slid into the chair next to Spot, along with Sarah, David, and Les. Spot gave a wide, uncontrolled, smirk to his friends; Les laughed, David scoffed, and Sarah giggled at the sight of Spot in such a liquored-up stagger, Jack meanwhile slapped Spot on the back and laughed, "Well, look who decided to show his mug tonight?"

"Shuddup, Cowboy, Race talked me into it but I still ain't in a great mood."

"Whatever you say, Spot." Jack laughed. The occupants of the table watched Medda's performance with energy and joy, when at last it was time for the dancing to start. What a scene Irving Hall became when this part of the night started boys raced frantically to and fro searching the crowd for the sparse population of newise girls to dance with. Within minutes the ballroom floor flooded with couples dancing harmoniously about the room. Spot watched as Jack and Sarah took to the floor and David led Les out the Hall, probably back home as it was getting late. David had always been overly responsible. Spot hated that about David, heck, he hated a lot of things about people, be it David, Jack, Racetrack, Donny, Hearst, Wiz, and now Star. In his drunken state, Spot could still retain that fact that half of Queens hadn't shown up to Irving Hall, meaning Star was almost certainly absent. He scanned the room once more, spotting several newsies from Queens but for the most part it seemed as though Queens, now separated from the other boroughs wanted things to stay the way they were: hostile. The mere thought of Queens made Spot sick to his stomach; the borough had never been on the same ground as the other boroughs. Queens always seemed as if it had something to prove; always trying show its power by thwarting other boroughs. The only person who had ever cared to stop Queens was Spot Conlon, and his Brooklyn boys. Spot was annoyed more than afraid of anything Queens tried to throw at him.

"Well, well, well, if ain't the almighty Spot "Stuck Up" Conlon!" There was only one face Spot could put to that voice: _**Star.**_


	7. Chapter 7 - Confrontation: Truth Be Told

Spot gulped, as a look of frustration impressed itself on his face, "Priss, I was wondering if you was gonna show."

"Miss me that much?"

"Hell no! I was enjoying myself actually until you showed. Whaddaya want?"

"Oh nothing, Lord Conlon. I just wanted to make my appearance before your almightiness. I thought it appropriate, wouldn't you agree?"

"Prissy and Sassy? Don't you bring anything else to da fight, goil?" To Spot's surprise, Star actually did pack extra ammo for the battle; the next thing Spot knew his jaw was met by a strong right swing from Star. The punch sent Spot to the floor in shock. He turned upward toward Star, rubbing his jaw; he was not about to admit it, but the sassy girl could pack a punch, better than most of Spot's Brooklyn boys.

"Rude, crude, overbearing, uncaring, selfish prick, that's all you are Spot Conlon. I hope you rot in Hell!" Star sneered as she turned and stormed out of Irving Hall. A few newsies including Jack and Race had become aware of the scuffle between the Brooklyn leader and the Queens lass. Race came jogging over to where Spot still lay on the ground.

"Uh, Spot? You okay? You just got taken down by a goil?!"

"I'm fine!" Spot growled angrily as Race helped him up, "Don't follow me."

Race looked clueless to Spot's answer as Spot sprinted out of Irving Hall after Star.

Something wasn't right with Star? Why would she care whether Spot was a ruthless leader or not? Spot wanted to find out. He ran and ran and ran, finally catching a glimpse of the girl at the Brooklyn Bridge. She stood there gazing out over the dark waters, her shadowy figure wrapped in the dark of night. As Spot approached he could hear her mumbling to herself.

"Why do I even bother talking to him? I'll never get anywhere with him, he's just a roadblock that I got to get around."

"Hey Priss!" Spot called out menacingly, catching the girl off guard. Star turned toward him, surprised momentarily then angry as she registered the voice through the darkness.

"Conlon."

"Dat was ballsy what ya did back at Medda's."

"Somebody needs to put ya in your place. Nobody in this town has got the drive to do it. Figure I might as well do it. I ain't afraid of ya. I damn well know a person with their head on straight could take you from your high ego inflated perch and toss you into obscurity. You're just a headstrong testosterone bloated boy who lets his ego overpower him. You're weak, Spot Conlon." Star preached.

"Well, now, dat's a lot of talking dat I hope you can back up," Spot paused, "You know what I don't get? I don't get how you hate me so much when I don't even have da slightest clue of who you really are or how you think you know me well enough to judge me."

"What? Don't you remember three years ago? You tore Queens down! All the respectability, all the power, everything was ruined when you had your shining moment. First, you killed Cobra then you screwed the rest of Queens by taking down our biggest benefactor, Mr. Hearst. You wonder how I know you well enough to judge you? That's how! Me and the rest of Queens judged you and rightfully so! You destroyed everything we worked so hard to build! Thanks to Scar we have been able to regroup and re-strengthen ourselves as a borough. Queens hates Brooklyn! Queens hates Spot Conlon!"

"Good. Dat means I'm fightin' for somethin'! Scar was a terrible leader and I bet this Raven ain't any better."

"If you knew the Raven you would never sleep soundly again."

Spot chuckled. Star hissed. "I ain't holding my breath." Spot snarled.

Star glared. Her fists tightened. "I don't know why I ever thought I could love you."

"Say what?!"

"I – nothing, I said – nothing. Boys are such idiots." She shouted, turning bright red with embarrassment.

"So, da truth comes out, don't it? You love me!" Spot laughed hysterically at this discovery. "There ain't no chance of that, nor will there ever be!"

"Suits me fine, Conlon. I'm okay with the truth. You're the last person I ever want to see again!"

Spot snatched up his gold-tipped cane from his pants; extending it roughly into Star's shoulder and chuckling again, "You can't resist me. Fine by me though if ya don't wanna see me no more, cuz honestly I'd be da happiest man in da world. I don't even like ya!"

"You think so much of yourself! But what you don't realize is that there are tons of other people in the world and they're all just trying to make it through another day. They don't have the luxury that you have had!"

"Spot flared with anger. "My life ain't no luxury. Far from it! It's luxury dat me Pops and Ma died in a fire! It's luxury dat my siblings died right along with 'em, roasting like turkeys at a dinner feast! It's luxury dat da only living relation I have is a five-year old bruddah, who don't even know I exist! It's luxury dat every person who I have grown close to has died: My family, Tails, Mr. Allen! It's luxury dat I had to scrounge to make a living after my parents' deaths, which I label murder, mind ya! And it's luxury dat I have had to battle t'rough da last three years with no one by my side supporting me, encouraging me, inspiring me to move forward more strongly than before. Dat's the importance of family so be thankful ya still got ya sistah!"

Star froze, shock spread across her face. A confession such as this one was one not to be taken sparingly. She devoured every word Spot had spoken. Certainly she did not believe his sob story would affect her strongly? Or would it?

All the yelling had attracted someone, someone neither Spot nor Star wanted to see anytime soon. Warden Snyder, who just happened to be strolling by. Within moments he appeared out of the darkness, "Tommy, ol' boy! Remember me?" Spot froze and spun about to face an old acquaintence's voice, one he had come to remember all to well in Warden Snyder.

"Heya, Warden! Trying to scrounge some more kids so's you can collect anothah wad 'a dough from the government. Must be nice."

"Enough chatter, Thomas! You're going back to the refuge along with your friend here. I hope you'll find it to your liking! Officers, bring these two to the refuge. Promptly, thank you."

Star lurched wriggled around as an officer grabbed her fiercely. Her screams were muffled by the policeman's hand as she was led to the back of the police wagon that waited near the bridgehead. Spot did not put up a fight. He knew it was useless. Nothing he said or did would help his situation. He was going back to the Refuge; this time he knew he would not be able to escape like he had done three years prior. Star! Oh how he had come to hate her! This whole situation was her fault. If he ever escaped he promised himself that he would exact his revenge! Damn Females!

_**Ok so thanks for reading thus far and for your patience. I have had writer's block and also had a detour vacation to Colorado. But I'm back and the story continues! I think we all know what might happen…..or do we? Next chapter will deviate from Spot back to Race and Gwen only for short bit to hopefully get a better idea of the situation from their perspective. It could be a quick chapter. I think my writer's block is returning. What will Spot do, trapped by that annoying Star!? **_


End file.
